The End of Days
by LadyFlamewing
Summary: What happens when it's come to the end, and there are only two left? Kurama/Yusuke.


Disclaimer: I claim no rights to Yu Yu Hakusho, nor any related characters or merchandise, and make no profit from the writing or distribution of this work of fiction.

Though he hates to admit it, when he walks through the door and finds the envelope propped up against the vase of flowers on the table in his front hall, Kurama knows almost immediately what it means. The simple fact that he has been anticipating the letter's arrival doesn't lessen the pain attached to its presence, though.

With fingers that tremble slightly, he takes up the envelope and slits it open carefully. The front is not labeled, but he doesn't need to see the hasty scrawl on its contents to know who it is from. The familiar writing only confirms what he already knows – the letter is from Yusuke. It must be – there is no one else left.

And that, of course, is what the letter means. Though the message it carries is brief, abrupt, the pain behind it is abundantly clear: _She's gone. Everything's taken care of. I'll be there soon._

'She', Kurama knows, refers to Keiko. It's been years since she and Yusuke married, long enough now for her human lifespan to be over. They have children, of course, but they are all grown and gone away. They will have returned for the services, out of the respect and love they feel for the powerful woman who was their mother, but Kurama knows that Yusuke means what he has written – he will come soon.

Because who else can understand him? It is a harsh and startling pain to outlive those people you love most, but what other choice is there for demons who form connections to humans? One by one, the ones they live have gone on, and Kurama understands that this last death will force Yusuke to seek out his own – to find someone who can share and understand his pain.

Kurama welcomes the company.

*****

He can't decide if it is strangely wrong or oddly right that Yusuke arrives on a perfectly sunny day, with not a cloud in the sky. What he does know, however, is that it seems completely natural – and how obscene is that? – to see Yusuke standing there, on his front step, looking hardly a day older than the last time they met, countless years ago. For a moment, the other boy's face is carefully blank – a way, Kurama imagines later, of protecting himself, just in case Kurama has changed somehow – but it takes only a few seconds longer for his eyes to brighten, for that cocky grin to spread over his face. And there, as if no time at all has passed, is the Urameshi Yusuke that Kurama remembers.

"Hey," Yusuke says, with an easy jut of his chin.

"Hello, Yusuke," Kurama answers, and with that, they have said all that needs be said. It is a moment of clear understanding, and Yusuke passes through the doorway and into the house easily as Kurama steps aside.

Even his stride is the same, Kurama notes, closing the door and watching Yusuke saunter about as if he owns the place, already as comfortable as if he were home. Which, Kurama thinks a moment later, he is. Because isn't that what this is all about? Home?

Yusuke glances back then, over his shoulder, his gaze casually expectant, and Kurama couldn't stop his answering smile if he tried.

_Welcome home, Yusuke_, he thinks, and by the achingly familiar laugh that answers him, he knows he has been understood.

*****

Looking back, as he does often over the years that follow, Kurama can't say precisely when it happened. Oh, he can recall the day and the year and even the time when he _knew_, but that's a very different matter.

He _knew_ on a day not very different from any of the others – a day he had been standing in the kitchen with a hot cup of coffee, gazing out the window above the sink and musing absently that it was about time to begin planting again.

The sounds of Yusuke's rising were old and familiar by then, only vaguely noted in the back of Kurama's mind – the soft complaint of bedsprings, a light tread punctuated by the creak of floorboards. The other demon had passed by without a word, but that was all right; he hadn't yet had his morning cup of coffee.

Softly, Kurama had wished him a good morning, and had been answered not by the customary absent noise of assent, but by a pair of slim arms encircling his waist. And when he had glanced back over his shoulder, startled, it had seemed the most natural thing in the world to press his lips softly to Yusuke's.

There, in the kitchen, they had stood for minutes or hours or maybe even days, and it wasn't until Kurama let his mug fall to shatter on the tiled floor in favor of freeing his hands to grip Yusuke's shoulders that he had really _known_.

But when had it _happened?_ When had things between them changed so drastically? And why hadn't Kurama noticed?

It isn't until much later, on a cold winter night, as Kurama lies awake and watches Yusuke's chest rise and fall evenly, that he understands. Perhaps he never noticed because things never really changed.

Is it so unbelievable to think that he and Yusuke have always loved one another? Friendship, after all, is a form of love, and one that can shift easily into something deeper. They have both been in love before, and this in no way negates those loves. In fact, it may even confirm them, by proving that both have hearts that can still feel, even after all these years – and all the losses the years contain.

With a smile, Kurama curls closer to his friend and lover – for both warmth and comfort. And really, when you get right down to it, how very different can the two be?


End file.
